Lust and Lies
by idevourbooks
Summary: A stripper and a mafia boss walk into a bar, only to become unlikely allies in a battle over turf.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**Hello, again! It's been two years since I've posted a story, and I'd like to thank **_calypso tchaka_ **for extending their kindness towards me when I basically fell off the face of the earth. It is because of them that I have decided to post this story.**

**Heads up...**

**I have 6 chapters already completed and have planned up to chapter 22. I will post the first 6 chapters biweekly and will try to do the same with the rest. If anything changes, I will let you know.**

**Also...**

**The first and second chapters are a little bit of a drag (and VERY long), ngl. This is because they are setting up the rest of the story, so please be patient.**

**Oh, and I'm a little rusty. Forgive me lol.**

**IMPORTANT:**

**THIS IS RATE ***M*** FOR A REASON. ADULT THEMES, SUCH AS... **

**-ABUSE**

**-SEX**

**-STRIPPING/PROSTITUTION**

**-DRUGS**

**-ALCOHOL**

**-MURDER**

**-MAFIA**

**-IMPLIED RAPE **

**...WILL BE USED IN THIS STORY. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ ANYTHING THAT HAS TO DO WITH ANY OF THOSE THINGS, DO NOT READ THIS.**

**I WILL TRY TO BE AS SENSITIVE AS I CAN TO MY AUDIENCE. I UNDERSTAND THAT SOME OF THESE TOPICS ARE DISTURBING; THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE. **

**JUST REMEMBER: IF IT STAYS WITH YOU, THAT MEANS I DID MY JOB. **

**Chapter One**

Men.

From her place on stage, she can somewhat see the outlines of dozens of men; lounging on the plush crimson sofas surrounding her, gathered around the outer ring of tables, sitting on stools at the bar across from her. Some enjoy a cigar, others an intimate conversation with one of the girls working the floor, but all of their eyes remain glued to her. All of them are drooling at the sight of her. All of them are waiting for her next move.

She can't see the men on the second floor, though. No matter how much she twists and turns, the VIP section remains hidden from view, living in the shadows to protect the high profilers that reside there.

On any other night, she wouldn't have cared to even try to catch a glimpse of the men up there, but Cana told her that one had an interest in her – a 'hot' one, no less, and Cana doesn't call everyone 'hot' – and she was curious, to say the least. It wasn't everyday a VIP took interest in her. She can only hope her secret admirer likes the view and that their pockets are big.

The last notes of the sensual song start to ring throughout the room, and the sultry blonde slowly slithers down the metallic pole with her head to the ground and feet to the ceiling. Running her hands one last time up (technically down) her body, she then plants her hands firmly on the ground in order to push her legs off of the pole, resulting in her being bent in a way that shows off her ample lower half to the masses. She then finds herself on her knees, panting with her plump, ruby lips parted, and hands gripping the cold pole before her while her ass remains up in the air, facing the crowded room of hollering men behind her as her number finally finishes.

She wonders if her secret admirer enjoys seeing her like this; on her knees and vulnerable if he so chose to take her. But what if he's not an ass-kind-of-guy? What if he prefers breasts? Well, she better cover her bases, then. She arches her back so her perspiring breasts envelope the pole, staying in character the entire time as she swiftly stands, and pushes the loose strands of her bangs from her face.

The clacking of her platform heels against the stage resonates throughout the entire room as she crosses to the stairs, before descending them in a way that causes her breasts to bounce with every step. Only when her foot leaves the last step does her boss, watching from way up in the DJ booth, start up the music again.

Her boss, Makarov, is the owner of the club that he so cleverly named _Mak's_. He is a tiny, kind-hearted old man that usually rocks an orange jumpsuit and a horned hat that manages to cover his ever-growing bald spot. The employees who know him well affectionately call him, 'Gramps,' since he is something of a grandfather to the performers, but at times that line became blurred by his perverted mind. For example, just now he, too, found himself entranced by her performance, like many of the other men who watch her pass. The difference, though, is that he has a job to do (and he's basically her grandpa), while they were allowed to relish in the sight of the blonde vixen.

The blonde accentuates her hips as she walks through the club, swaying them from side to side without managing to fall in her monstrous footwear due to years of practice. She remains poised when men stuff bills into her white thong as she passes, though internally, she cheers with every Jewel as if it's the first time she danced on that pole – gods know she needs every one if she ever wants to leave _him_.

Upon returning to the bar where she had lent a hand at the beginning of the night, she picks back up her tray before turning to her favorite bartender, the lovely Mirajane Strauss, who immediately starts piling drinks onto her tray. "Who are these for, Mira?" She questions over the chatter and music.

"Sherry told me they're for section six, tables three and five," the white-haired beauty responds, sweat gathering along her brow as she throws a pile of napkins onto the center of the tray.

The blonde raises a brow at this, surprised that she was taking up Sherry's tables. Usually, it's the other way around; Sherry thrives on the energy of the club, and therefore is usually the last one to leave aside from their boss and, occasionally, Mirajane. She loves performing on stage (more like she loves all of the attention thrown her way) and loves flirting with the customers. She even told her once that she plans on meeting her husband at the club, which to her sounded a little odd, considering the majority of their customers were slimy old men, but Sherry continues to believe in the idea that some rich thirty-year-old will stomp onto the stage to sweep her off of her feet.

The blonde frowns; it must have been either really late or Sherry really did find her one true love, and the latter is improbable. "Sherry left already? What time is it?"

Mira pauses her mixing to glance at the red watch strapped onto her wrist (that coincidentally matches with her scarlet corset), puffing her lengthy bangs out of her cerulean eyes, "It's a little after two. Why? Have to be somewhere, Lucy?"

Lucy simply shakes her head, looking out at the rather still full club before taking up her tray with groan, "Nope. It's just going to be a long night."

'_And an even longer one when I get home._'

With that, Lucy begins her trek towards section six which is located on the far right of the club. She works her way through the floor, a few whistles blown her way that she commonly returns with a wink or, at times, a short tease-filled conversation which she finds gains her tips.

Climbing a small set of stairs, she enters section six where she quickly scouts out the tables in question. One seems on the tamer side, its occupants obviously new given they're completely entranced by the females on stage, while the other seems more troublesome with what appears to be a party of twelve crammed into a booth made for six.

With a sigh, she approaches the safer one first with a massive smile painted on her face, "Hi, there," she calls sweetly, quickly getting the attention of four middle-aged men in crumpled suits like sugar water would with flies, "who ordered the martini?"

The plump, bald one that looks like he's never seen a drink in his life until today shoots his hand so high into the air he almost knocks himself out of his chair. He is quick to recover, though, and with a smile that splits his cherry face, he rumbles, "That'll be me, pretty lady. Say, where did that pink haired girl go? We didn't get to give her a tip."

Lucy feels her subconscious smirk_,_ '_Got you_,' it sings. Externally, though, Lucy shrugs innocently, making sure to touch his palm as she hands him his drink. "She just left. I guess she doesn't love you… well," she muses, batting her eyelashes and removing her hand from his to trace a finger around her breast, "at least not as much as I do."

A couple more pleasurable words later and Lucy is walking away from that table to the next, high on victory with Sherry's generous tip poking out of the sides of her feathery bra. How she loved drunk, gullible men, willing to give all their money away to a sweet smile.

She swiftly serves the rest of the drinks on her tray in a similar fashion, thankful that the seemingly assholes at her next table turned out to be far too gone to even bother being assholes. She starts to head back to the bar, weaving through the sea of horny patrons with her tray (now full of empty drinks that she gathers along the way) balanced precariously on one hand until someone gains the balls to slap her exposed ass, the sting telling her that it was sure to leave a mark.

Now, let's get one thing straight. Yes, Lucy is a stripper. Yes, her entire job is about pleasing the male sex. Yet this does not mean that they are able to touch her whenever they please. She is a performer, not a sex toy, and deserves to be respected.

Lucy freezes, clenches her free fist, and turns to sock the sucker in the jaw, only for that sucker to be her close friend, Cana – the promiscuous drunk of the club notorious for groping the other performers on the daily. Lucy instantly relaxes at the smug smirk spreading across her friend's face as the cheeky waitress takes a swig from an unloved beer bottle she finds on her serving tray.

"Cana," Lucy sighs, "what do you need?"

The busty brunette frowns in feigned thought, walking past the blonde to a table a few means away, "'What do I need', you ask?" she questions, wordlessly handing her glass to an expecting Lucy in order to pass out the drinks on her tray. The receivers of said drinks, in turn, shove a few Jewels into the brunette's lacy blue thong. Cana turns back to Lucy, "Well, it's not something that I need per say, more like some information I need to pass along." Cana stumbles closer to snatch back her beer and whisper in Lucy's ear, "Someone up there wants to talk to you."

So, her secret admirer enjoyed the show then? Lucy bites her bottom lip in an attempt to suppress her smile, "Do they now?"

"Mhm," Cana sings, bopping her hip with Lucy's, "he wants to talk to you right away." Cana wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Lucy smirks, "Guess I better not leave him waiting, then."

With that, Lucy leaves a chuckling Cana in favor of hurrying back to the bar where she plops her tray down on the table for Mira. "I'll be back," she promises, before rushing to the spiral stairs that lead to the VIP section. She passes a few mirrors on her way over, quickly stopping to fix herself (what? She wanted to look presentable for the guy that's been plaguing her thoughts all night), before continuing on her way.

She places one foot on the first step and stops, her subconscious from before reemerging as the voice of reason. '_What are you doing?_' it asks, '_Why are you so eager to meet this guy? You don't know him – what if he's here to hurt you? Kill you?_' Lucy rolls her eyes, who would want to kill her? And to do so in such a public place? She places her hand on the rail; she's just overthinking things again. She needs to stop thinking and just do it. She needs to see – not imagine – what is waiting for her upstairs, and so, she allows curiosity to get the best of her. She scrambles up the steps before she can stop herself, all of her inner worries exploding with every step, and emerges into the luscious space made for the rich and powerful… only for her to find herself all alone.

**888**

Lucy flies down the stairs, upset and disappointed and – more than anything – pissed. At whom? She doesn't quite know yet. If it turns out Cana's been lying to her all night, getting her all riled up about a guy that doesn't even exist, then she'll be pissed at her. But if Cana was telling the truth and the ass wad just up and left after asking to see her, then she'll be pissed at him. Gods help him when she does meet him; she has a Lucy-kick so brutal for him in store, he's going to wish he never even laid eyes on her.

She yells over her shoulder to Mirajane that she was leaving for the night while storming past the bar into the corridor for private dances. Lucy is unfazed by the moans and grunts resonating from the numerous rooms obscured by the thick, ruby curtains lining the hall, the sounds commonplace after working at _Mak's_ for so long. She is sure to say her goodnights to the bouncers (each of whom have saved her ass at least once) standing guard outside of each room prior to entering a space labeled, 'EMPLOYEES ONLY'.

The blonde quickly finds her locker and plucks the tips from her body to make a pile on one of the shelves. She sighs in relief as she slips off her costume that consists of a matching, white bra-and-thong set with fluffy ivory feathers hot-glued on, courtesy of Cana and Mirajane trying to make her cheap buy scream desirable. The costume reminds Lucy of – ironically – an angel, but sadly for her, the angel bra digs into her ribs like a demon clawing out of Hell, so she gladly trades her work attire for flat-soled boots, a simple sable skirt, and a blue blouse (and granny panties and a _comfortable_ withering bra). She grabs her keys, phone, and bus pass, stuffing them into her trusty bra before shoving on her jacket. She grabs the pile of money from her locker, shuts it, and walks towards the locker room's exit to the alley, counting the money she made tonight as she does.

Two hundred Jewels. She growls, aggressively shoving the wad of cash into her bra. Don't get her wrong, two hundred Jewels was a great haul – especially for a Monday – but she wasn't entirely sure if it was worth her staying until three in the morning for, considering she told _him_ she was going to get home at one.

Lucy grumbles something along the lines of "stupid stingy men" as she gets to the bus stop near her workplace, and unceremoniously plops herself onto the bench accompanying it to wait for her ride home. She shivers, it was chillier than she anticipated. For early June, the night was unreasonably cold (she blames global warming, though some tend to differ), and is grateful that soon cold would no longer exist. Summer was upon them, with winter long forgotten. Her old enemy, ice, could no longer bruise her bum to the point she'd have to sit in the dreadful snow to relieve the pain.

She should rephrase that – it's not that Lucy hates snow, far from it, actually, as some of her best childhood memories were made in the ethereal fluff, it was just that she hates the snow in Magnolia. Northern Magnolia, to be specific, as the snow here was nowhere near the snow she remembered playing in as a child. At her old home, the snow shone bright in the light of day; so white, it was clear, and so fluffy that it could break falls from a third story. Here, though, the snow was turned black by the fumes of the cars, and the consistency was slushy – a mixture of ice and water that she didn't even trust to walk in, much less play in. It was tainted, a warped idea from her early years, much like the rest of her life since. She missed it at times, her childhood – carefree and innocent, having tea parties with her father, reading with her mother, playing hide-n-seek with an unknowing staff… those were the best years of her life.

How she wishes she didn't take them for granted.

Shaking her head from her thoughts, Lucy decides that she'll go shopping tomorrow for a light jacket… of course, only if _he_ permits it, given she has to ask for his permission to take a shit, much less leave their apartment.

She growls – she hates him. She hates the very idea of him, so to live with him is unbearable, but she sucks it up and stays with the asshole. Why? Because she needs him… more like she needs his wallet. Bora, her boyfriend of six years, was the one paying the rent, after all. How? She doesn't know considering he doesn't even have a job, but he does, and so long as he keeps paying that bill every month, she doesn't care if he's the Devil himself – she's keeping him until she no longer needs him. That might sound a little condescending, but it's the truth, and if Lucy wants to survive, that's the only way to do so.

The world's cruel, she just has to find a way to use it to her advantage.

Lucy jumps slightly as the smooth material of dress pants rubs against her right thigh, and her eyes flicker to watch the owner of said pants sit down on the bench beside her. It's a man and be it either due to her strong spiritual connection or her kick-ass female survival instincts, she recognizes almost immediately that something about him was… off. Not necessarily 'lunatic' off (she's seen _Psycho_ and he was no Norman Bates), but an 'odd' off.

Firstly, he's dressed in a rather expensive looking beige tux with matching dress shoes and a white dress shirt, the top few buttons left undone revealing part of a tawny chest and tattoo. This is not a common sight in this neck of the woods – the chances of someone even owning a suit, much less a tux, on this side of Magnolia is slim to none.

He's also too relaxed for her liking. His arms are strung up on either side of the bench, one hand containing a freshly lit cigarette, and his legs are outspread leisurely, hence the contact of his left knee against her own.

A deep sigh leaves his lips, forcing her to glance up at his face. Before she can even take note of it, though, his exotic hair pops out at her – another reason why he was so damn odd. Salmon locks spike out in every direction, and she wonders if it's natural – his eyebrows are a similar shade, so she assumes as much, but it's still highly unlikely that someone would be born with pink hair. Some of the strands hang low in his tanned face, just reaching his eyes that Lucy finds herself taken aback by.

His eyes, at first glance, are pure unforgiving ebony, but as she stares a little longer, she spots tiny mesmerizing flecks of emerald and gold near his irises. He has a slightly crooked nose and a fading scar high on his cheek, and a narrow chin. His lips are thin, and slightly chapped, and he brings his cigarette up to them, taking in a drag before exhaling slowly, smoke escaping in tendrils from his nose.

Lucy's entranced – he reminded her of a dragon, in a way. He was beautiful. A little tired, a little worn out as seen by the crease forming between his brow and bags under his eyes, but beautiful, and of course, with that last observation, Lucy picks up on the oddest thing about him: he was wet.

He was sopping wet – head to toe. His suit, his hair (that is still somehow sticking up because fuck gravity, right?), his _socks_ – he was dripping wet. From what? Lucy has no idea. At no time at all today did it rain – there wasn't even a chance for a storm until next week. He could have fallen into a pool, yet Lucy rules that unlikely given the majority of the pools were closed at this time. Lucy wants to ask him about it, she even opens her mouth to do so, only before she can utter the words, he beats her to it.

"Don't ya know it's not nice to stare?" he grumbles in a gravelly voice, and her eyes flicker up from his lips to meet his own eyes glaring hostile holes into hers, causing her to promptly avert her gaze to the store in front of her.

"Sorry!" She squeaks softly prior to clamping her mouth shut, feeling his stare on her as she does. She wants to die. A very attractive and unusual man sits next to her on the bench for the bus and all she can do is offend him by staring. '_Great. Just great job, Lucy. Maybe he'll also kill you, given the only people out at 3 am on a Monday – well, Tuesday – are people like you and criminals, and there aren't a lot of people like you_.'

Just as Lucy begins to lose herself to her ongoing list of ways to escape if the man next to her does turn out to be some psychopathic killer, a cigarette invades her field of vision. She blinks, looking down at the hand outstretched to her, before looking towards its owner.

His face is just as stoic and tired as before, yet there seems to be another sentiment weighing his brows down lower that wasn't there before he snapped at her. "Here," the pink haired man says in a softer tone that still manages to leave no room for argument, "have a puff."

Hesitantly, she lifts a delicate hand to his own and takes the cig between her thumb and forefinger, glancing at him to catch him watching the cigarette as she slowly lifts it to meet her lips. She wraps her lips securely around the papery base and sucks in a long drag like she had seen many others before her do, feeling kind of sexy as she does, only for this feeling to be replaced by that of her body going into panic mode. Her eyes water and her lungs immediately revolt against the feeling of the smoke entering them – the passage of this new substance assailing them with its suffocating ways. She quickly pulls the cigarette from her mouth, coughing furiously away from the stranger next to her whilst practically shoving the cancer stick in his face.

He, in turn, laughs as he plucks the cigarette from her hand. Once she is able to get her coughing under control (which feels like forever to her), she greedily sucks in a breath of cool air, before casting a glare at her amused companion who places the cigarette between his curled lips.

"Never smoked before?" He questions with a smirk as Lucy wipes the tears from her cheeks.

"No." She answers hoarsely.

"Plan on doing it again?" He wiggles the cigarette in her face.

She shoves his arm away, "No."

Silence falls over them again, yet unlike the previous one, this one is far more comfortable. She feels herself relax a bit, sinking into the bench (she didn't even realize she was sitting up straight as board until now) and crossing her arms loosely over her chest, far more convinced that he is not her soon-to-be murder. An asshole, maybe, but a killer? No.

It seems the asshole is able to relax as well as he lets his head hang back over the bench, sighing deeply as he does. She catches him closing his eyes, and she finds herself staring at him again, admiring his dark long lashes and the thrum of his pulse in his neck. She can only wish to be as beautiful.

Sure, Lucy is attractive and obviously sexy. She has to be, working at a strip club, but that doesn't mean she was beautiful. The delicate beautiful that she saw in him. Yes, he was a little roughed up, but the scars only added to his appeal in her opinion, and beauty like his was only because he was hiding something from view.

Take a Venus fly trap, for example. Or, going back to her old analogy, a dragon. Strong, magnificent, beautiful, yet ferocious, unforgiving, dangerous – deadly. That's something Lucy is not, therefore there's no reason for her to be so beautiful. But him… she doesn't know the first thing about him, only that he dresses well, he smokes, he's currently wet, he's making small talk with a woman on a bus bench at an ungodly hour, and that he's beautiful. Again, she is back to not knowing, because she doesn't know, and not knowing things can cost a life.

Lucy shifts on the bench so her thigh is no longer in contact with his, and it is quick to go cold.

His voice suddenly slices through the air, startling her, "What are you doing here at this time of night?"

She tenses. Does she answer him truthfully? He's a stranger. She's a woman all alone at 3 am. More specifically, she's a stripper – the so-called scum of society right next to prostitutes and drug dealers. She knows how this story goes. Despite this, or really, because of it, she clears her throat, "I could ask you the same thing." A response is better than nothing, even if it is filled with sass.

A grin from the corner of her eyes. "Touché." He rumbles.

A long stretch of more silence passes and Lucy doesn't know why she does it – perhaps she was getting sick of always playing it safe or perhaps she was just getting sick of the silence or perhaps she was just plain bored waiting for this damned bus to take her away from this nightmare of a situation – but she manages to blurt, "I'm going home."

"Wish I could say the same." He mumbles, shifting so that his elbows rested on his knees.

She frowns, "Where are you going then?"

He takes another drag, "To a house where I sleep and eat and take a shit every now and then."

A laugh escapes her body and she feels all of her worries leave with it – he wasn't going to hurt her. If he was, he would have done so already. She finds herself back in her previous state of relaxation, not noticing he had turned his head to watch her over his shoulder as the last of her giggles die out, and asks, "Isn't that your home?"

He shakes his head, tapping thoughtfully at his cig as his eyes penetrate her own, "No, that's not home."

She still feels the smile on her lips as she meets his intense gaze with her soft (and frankly exhausted) one. She tilts her head, resting it in her palm as she whispers, "What is your home, then?"

He turns his head back out to the street, "I haven't got one."

"Come on," Lucy rolls her eyes, nudging him softly in an attempt to probe the answer out of him, "everyone's got a home."

He sends her a broken smile, "Not me."

Lucy feels the weight of his words settle on her chest like an elephant, squeezing her heart tightly, and suddenly the broken in her starts coming out, too. "Well," she starts, carefully choosing her words as she can tell they're heading into touchy territory, "what's a home to you?"

He leans back, running his hands on his thighs and clenching his jaw, but instead of looking at her, he intently stares straight ahead so much so that Lucy wonders if he's even looking at anything at all, "Home isn't a place," he says so lowly she almost doesn't catch it, "It's a person. It's that one person that can erase all your worries and make you feel safe. It's that person that's always there for you, always supporting you, loving you, no matter how bad things get. It's that person whom you look forward to seeing everyday – the reason you get out of bed and the reason you leave work in a hurry. It's that person that sees all the ugly – that knows of all the awful things you've done – but still loves you in spite of it because they understand you." He finally looks up at her and Lucy's breath catches at the raw emotion burning in his coal eyes as he mumbles, "That's why I don't have a home."

Lucy can only stare back into his dark eyes that are flitting between her own, pleading with her to listen, to _understand_, and she finds that she does.

"I guess I don't have a home either, then."

Then she kisses him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**Another long chapter, I know, but bear with me. The next chapter will be much shorter and to the point, don't worry.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Two**

"_Twenty-three were found dead earlier today in an abandoned warehouse in the eastside fishing district. The victims were seemingly shot, stabbed, and burned to death five nights ago. Their killers remain unknown, though a street camera shows a man jumping into the canal –"_

"Ugh, why do you always listen to such depressing stuff, Lucy?" Cana scowls, turning the dial on her car radio to one of the many bubblegum-pop music stations, a song about getting revenge on a cheating boyfriend blasting through her crappy speakers.

Lucy scoffs from the passenger seat, "The news is not depressing, Cana. It's informative."

Cana frowns, "Could have fooled me."

They come to a stop as the traffic light aloft turns red and a wave of pedestrians flood into the street. Currently, the two girls are on their way to downtown Magnolia in hopes of finding a new, whole-in-the-wall restaurant to enjoy their girls' night in. They're not very picky in the kind of place, so long as the booze was cheap and that by the end of their meal, they had to waddle out the door and roll each other home. That was what Lucy loved about Cana – the girl was always up for anything anytime.

The pedestrians finish trickling to the other side of the street just as the light turns, and Cana quite literally guns it, her tiny car from the turn of the century sputtering away as she does. They begin entering the lower numbered streets, Lucy blissfully watching from her window as blaring police sirens and red-and-blue lights melt into the soulful music of street performers and bright lights of billboards, storefronts, and skyscrapers against the ink sky. A few streetlights later, Cana manages to not take out the parking meter whilst parallel parking and Lucy wiggles loose change out of her shoe for the still-intact meter, before they set out on their quest for dinner.

They easily meld into the crowd of people walking, and rather than feel overwhelmed by all the scents, languages, and colors being thrown about her in a constant whirlwind, Lucy finds comfort in them. Sure, she hates northern Magnolia, but southern Magnolia is not the same beast. Southern Magnolia is all the best parts of the city crammed into one place – the art, the music, the life – and Lucy grins to herself as she struts down the street, looking all around her in an attempt to absorb it all before it disappears, causing her to fall slightly behind Cana as she does. The brunette eventually notices when she goes to ask Lucy for her thoughts on a certain dive, only for her to not be there, and has to wait for the blonde bombshell to catch up before continuing on in fear of losing her indefinitely. If not to the city, itself, then to the city's people that would take one look at Lucy and swallow her whole.

Sure, Cana looked good; she was wearing makeup that made her dark eyes pop and lips pout, with her wavy, brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with a few strands loose to frame her perfectly-made olive face. She wore her heeled, black biker boots, loose ripped jeans, a white tank with an unbuttoned plaid shirt on top, and her black leather jacket, all of which played down her natural curves. It was one of her favorite looks, but Cana made the mistake of throwing another one of her favorite looks at Lucy to wear tonight, and she was afraid that it might have made her a target for the wrong kind of attention.

Lucy wore Cana's tight, pink cropped tank and low-rising skinny jeans, paired with her beige pumps, all of which accentuated Lucy's curves. Her long blonde hair that effortlessly flowed around her in some kind of halo wasn't helping, either, and Cana found it especially unfair that though Lucy had on no makeup, her skin was flawless. If Cana wasn't Lucy's friend, she would have wished dishonor on all her cows, but she is the goddess's friend, and has instead taken it upon herself to protect the innocent flower from all the nasty bugs that are sure to come her way tonight.

The two girls continue their trek down the street; Cana now keeping an eye out for appealing restaurants as well as perverts trying to steal her best friend, and Lucy simply saying yay or neigh to Cana's restaurant suggestions. Lucy finds her eyes roaming aimlessly about the area, flitting from street signs, to storefronts, to the tops of buildings, to little doggies on the ground, to strange people and things, one such thing causing her to snort.

'_A guy with pink hair?_' She laughs to herself, '_That's a little ridiculous –_'

Memories of spiky salmon locks connected to the head of an odd man whom she had an odd conversation with at an odd location at an odd time on an odd day flood her mind, and Lucy stops in her tracks to watch the blob of color approach her.

She vaguely processes a man snapping at her for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk as the blob draws nearer, and Lucy finds herself reaching out to stop him, not knowing what she was going to say, just hoping that he would recognize her and fill in the void for her… only for it to not be him. It was just some tall, pale, lanky kid that doesn't even acknowledge her presence, strolling with his earbuds in, blaring some heavy metal song and sporting coordinating clothes, who happens to have pink hair.

Lucy sniffs, glaring at the now visible black roots, '_It's not even natural,_' she thinks in a weak attempt at defense for her actions.

Suddenly, Cana is at her side, snapping obnoxiously in her face, "Hello? Is anyone in there? Kind of want to eat before the sun comes up!"

Startled, Lucy blinks and leans away from the hand practically being shoved up her nose. "Sorry, Cana," she stammers out, scratching the back of her head, "I thought I saw someone that I knew."

Cana rolls her eyes and groans before snatching Lucy's wrist and dragging her towards a nearby restaurant, "Yeah, well, while you were talking to yourself, I went and got us a table at _The Nessie_."

_The_ _Nessie_, from the outside, appears to be the typical dive bar. Its front consists of two narrow, stain-glass windows with a massive wooden door wedged in between them. The sign above is worn and weathered from years of use, a few letters missing to spell _HE_ _NESS_ _E_ instead, making Lucy wonder if Cana chose this restaurant because of the ambiance, or because its name currently reminded Lucy of the brunette's favorite drink. She can already picture the inside – a bar on the left, uncomfortable wooden booths lining the right, tiny tables for two crammed in the middle. As they draw nearer, Lucy can smell the fried food, beer, and people, and she can already tell that the tabletops were sticky.

Upon entry (which tested their ability to work together as a team in order to open the door), though, Lucy finds that she is pleasantly surprised. Yes, it's most definitely all of the above, but it is the charm – the drunken bellows of joyful customers, the bustle of waiters and bartenders tending to said customers, the air humming with music and love, the pictures of family on the brick wall – that makes Lucy sit down across from Cana in one of the tiny tables for two crammed in the middle, place her elbows nonchalantly on the sticky tabletop, and ask for the strongest beer in the house.

Cana was surprised by her usually reserved friend (well, as reserved as a stripper can be), to say the least, "Little miss CDC wants a beer? I thought you only drank merlot?"

Lucy rolls her eyes at Cana's gaping mouth, "I don't only drink wine, Cana. I don't have that kind of budget." She states matter-of-factly.

Cana snorts as the waitress returns with two ginormous wooden mugs of beer that Lucy needs both of her hands to hold, while Cana manages to raise hers high with one hand clasped tightly around the iron handle, "To our tiny-ass stripper budgets!" she calls.

Lucy laughs as she struggles to clink her mug with Cana's, "Cheers!" they holler in unison before pressing the mugs to their lips and chugging. Lucy takes one long, good swig before placing the mug on the table, taking note of the heat that teases her throat left behind by the alcohol now swimming in her empty stomach.

Cana, on the other hand, chugs the amber liquid until she slams an empty mug down on the table with a burp, flashing Lucy (who is in complete awe that the brunette is not the color of a tomato) with a wide grin as she does. "That was good – another round please?" The brunette calls over the noise to a cute, tatted bartender with his long hair pulled back into a bun, who simply sends her a smile in response.

Lucy's eyes bug out of her head, "Another round? I'm barely done with my first one!"

Cana shrugs, "Better hurry up, then. Unless," Cana tilts her head with a shit-eating smirk spreading across her dark lips, "you don't think you can handle it."

Lucy's eyes narrow. She knows she's being baited into doing something stupid, but she'd rather die than back down from a challenge from Cana. Lucy grabs the mug, presses it to her mouth, lifts it high, and chugs, all the while sending a death glare to Cana from the corners of her eyes. She ignores the horrible feeling of her esophagus being stripped raw and greedily gulps down the rest of the bubbly drink, not bothering to stop for air. Cana claps when Lucy slams the mug down on the table in a similar fashion to her alcoholic friend, but the similarities end there for while Cana shows now signs of intoxication, Lucy feels the warmth still settling in the pit of her stomach climb up her neck and face to spread across her cheeks.

Lucy eagerly sucks a large bout of air into her buzzing lungs and swipes at a trail of beer dribbling down her chin, flashing her companion a wide grin as she asks, "Where's that other round at?"

The next round finally arrives and leaves in a similar fashion to the last, followed by an uncontrollable fit of laughter originating from the blonde, and so does another, and another, until Cana is shamelessly flirting with the cute bartender (whose name she now knows is Bacchus) from across the room and Lucy feels as if her stomach is going to explode from all the beer she's drank. Lucy excuses herself from the table to stumble to the bathroom hidden in a corner in the back of the restaurant.

She crashes through the door with a surprised 'oof!' that quickly converts into giggles and hums happily as she throws herself into the first open stall, practically falling into the toilet as she goes to answer nature's call. She then staggers to the sink where she manages to lose the soap cradled in the palm of her hand five times before finally getting it to stay long enough for her to finish washing her hands. She grabs a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser and looks at herself in the mirror as she dries her hands. She smiles widely; she's a mess!

Her face is red, some of the scarlet splotches even staining her neck, and on her cheeks reside the dried tracks of tears from laughing so hard. She wipes the tracks away with the paper towels still clutched in her hands and turns to throw them away only to stop mid-movement, her heavy eyes widening at the sight before her.

She gasps softly – there he was, standing right in front of her and staring down at her with those ebony eyes embedded in his tan face, the flecks of emerald and gold gleaming amusedly in the dim light of the bathroom. Her jaw slackens, and she holds her breath as she lifts a hand to touch his scarred cheek, his drooping salmon locks, his thin chapped lips… only for her hand to pass right through him.

She gulps as the mirage disappears, staring disappointedly down at the paper towels in her hand. She doesn't understand why he's affecting her so much, the pink-haired man whose name she doesn't even know. She doesn't understand why she's been looking for him in every face she's encountered these past few days, and why she's been hoping he's doing the same.

He was just a man – a beautiful man that started up a conversation with a lonely woman at the bus stop. He was nothing special, yet no matter how many times she tells herself this, she continues to think back to that moment five nights ago, to the man she had shared it with, to the kiss that she had given him and the one he had returned that was filled with so much loss and despair, she couldn't tell if she was taking some of his pain or if he was taking some of hers.

Lucy reaches a hand up to her lips, remembering the warmth of him – the feeling of him caressing her tongue with a touch so gentle, she thought he was scared to break her. She doesn't quite understand what about this kiss is so different from the other ones she's had, just that it is, and that it's been plaguing her thoughts day and night, just like the man she shared it with has.

On a side note, she knows she should feel guilty for kissing him when she had a boyfriend, but she doesn't. She doesn't feel guilty for feeling something more than abhorrence for a person of the opposite sex. She can't remember the last time Bora kissed her, much less with so much emotion and passion fueling it. She can't remember a time when Bora told her he loved her. Then again, she can't recall an instance in which she told the asshole she loved him, either. They don't love each other, and they both know it, too. She used him for his money and he used her to release his… needs, whatever they may be.

Lucy cringes – her beer was going to come back up if she continued to think of that slime-ball.

She shoves the paper towels into the garbage and walks out of the bathroom, sobered-up and trying to forget where her thoughts were quickly deteriorating to.

Lucy ambles through the bustling pub back to her table where she finds Cana waiting with the check. Cana slides it to her once she sits and Lucy begins rummaging through her pockets for the forty Jewels to cover her half. She pulls out thirty-seven Jewels and throws them on the table before patting herself down for the extra three.

Cana watches intently as her friend grows frustrated and uses a hand to hide the frown deepening on her face, though she is unable to hide the furrow between her brows. After a few moments of Lucy frantically scouring her body for money, Cana pulls the check back. She snatches Lucy's thirty-seven Jewels lying on the table and drops down her forty along with an extra three Jewels before sliding it all into the check. She motions for a waitress to take the bill and only when it is out of her hands does she meet Lucy's gaze.

Lucy grinds her teeth, "Cana," she starts, her tone warning the brunette of her distaste with her actions, "you didn't have to do that."

Cana rubs her forehead, "Yes, I did." She sighs and Lucy already knows where this conversation's going. It's the conversation she's been dreading since Monday. She's just surprised it took so long to come up – and at a pub, no less.

"Look, Lucy," Cana purses her lips, eyes focused on one of her many rings in favor of meeting Lucy's hard eyes as she continues, "I really don't mind you staying with me – heck," she smirks, "it's actually kind of nice considering you clean up after the both of us – but you have to go back home eventually." Lucy shifts in her seat, all of the reasons for her to not go back to that place bubbling up in her mouth, only for Cana to squash them, "Now, I don't mean stay there, obviously. I know your boyfriend is a dick and I'm not some kind of monster that would force you to go back to him, but you need to get your money out of there. Preferably before Bora finds it. He'd blow all your lifesavings in one night and you know it.

"And after you get all your crap out of that hellhole," Cana smiles softly, placing a reassuring hand over Lucy's, "you can live with me." Cana is quick to raise her hand, clarifying herself, "Only if you want to, though. I know I can be a pain in the ass, so I'd completely understand if you'd rather move in with Mira."

Lucy giggles, "Thanks, Cana, that means a lot, but…"

But she hasn't seen Bora in almost a week and she knows he's going to have a punishment in store for her when she does go back.

"I don't think I can go back there." She whispers, eyes downcast.

Cana moves to be in her field of vision, "Hey," she mutters, looking worriedly at her friend, "you don't have to go alone. If you want, I'll go in with you if you don't want to be by yourself with him."

Lucy says nothing, instead she stays, processing Cana's words. She wasn't alone in this. Deep down, she always knew she wasn't, but she had just become so reliant on Bora, that she didn't even realize there was another way out aside from saving up for a place of her own. She had friends that cared about her, that were willing to take her in until she could get on her own two feet, and she feels like hitting herself for not realizing this sooner. Cana was right – she doesn't need him anymore and, frankly, she never did.

She can leave Bora, she just needs to do one thing before she can.

Lucy pulls her arm out of Cana's grasp and stands, looking down at the brunette with determination hardening her carob eyes.

"He plays poker with a couple of friends Saturday nights, so let's make this quick."

**888**

Lucy climbs the stairs leading to her apartment alone. Cana had offered to come up with her, but she told her to stay. She needs to do this alone.

Her footfalls resonate loudly throughout the stairwell, each one steeling her resolve to take the next step, and the next, and the next, until she reaches the fifth floor. She walks down the dimly lit corridor, heels clacking against the brown, cracked tile and eyes watering at the smell of weed spilling through the cracks of one of the doors lining the once-white hall. She is then taken back to five nights ago when she walked this hallway and arrived at her door, only to never enter the apartment. She was scared off by the yells originating from behind the door whose brown paint was cracked and peeling and whose golden 5E was stolen long ago.

Tonight, she hears no yells from the other side of the door and fishes the keys out of her pocket, unlocking the door. She takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves screaming at her to get as far away from that place as she can, and shakily swings the door wide. She passes over the threshold into the dark apartment and releases the breath she had held in – he's not there, just as she suspected. She turns to shut the door and flick on the overhead lights before turning back to the apartment, only to freeze up at the sight before her.

Two menacing men in suits stand in the center of her living room, glaring holes into her, while another lounges on the couch, eyes glazing over her with mild curiosity. The two men standing hold their arms behind their backs, puffing their chests out as part of their attempt to intimidate her, but Lucy finds it to be unnecessary; just them being there was enough. The one on the right is frightening – a tall, slim figure that is purely black and white with pale skin, raven hair, and cold, dark droopy eyes – though it is his counterpart that truly unnerves her. If she believed the previous man tall, then this one is a giant, standing at least foot taller than his companion. He's solidly built and tan, with long black hair pulled back into a pony tail and blood-red eyes that sit in a hard face covered with piercings. Neither smile, nor do they frown – they maintain no facial expression aside from their blatant glares.

A voice clears and Lucy turns her attention over to the man lounging on the couch, feeling her eyes widen as they do. Her jaw slackens slightly and she feels her heart begin to race – it's not every day the man that has been haunting one's thoughts comes to pay them a visit, after all.

"What are you doing here?" The voice she's been dreaming of for the past five nights splits the air, only for Lucy to find herself taken aback by the gruffness in it. Her brows furrow as she stops her scanning of his form to meet his sable eyes. The emerald and gold flecks near his irises are not visible from her spot so far away, so she can only see the black that threatens to swallow her whole should she make a wrong move. The loneliness that welcomed her at the bus stop is no longer present in them, instead replaced by an animosity that threatens her.

She gulps, trying in vain to gather the saliva she needs to utter, "I live here," she states, though it sounds more like a question, "what are you doing here?"

He stands, hands in the pockets of his black dress pants as he ambles across the room, eyes glued to her as he ignores her question and asks, "How do you know Bora Kripe?"

Lucy purses her lips – he had the same tanned face, the same light scars, the same deep voice, the same unruly salmon locks, but he was not the man from Monday night. The man from Monday night begged her for her sympathy, the man that stands before her now commands her compliancy. It pisses her off. It pisses her off that the man before her is a lie living in the husk of the man she connected with, but instead of exploding as she infamously does, she remains poised – she doesn't know what he's capable of. Her eyes flicker over the men flanking him whom she now assumes are his bodyguards of sorts – though she doubts that he would hurt her, she can't say the same about them.

She begins to jounce her knee irritably, "He's my…" she pauses, what the hell even was Bora to her at this point? Reluctantly, she meets his unreadable gaze again, settling with, "boyfriend."

"What do you know about Erebus?" He wastes no time in asking. A twinge of pain unexpectedly passes through Lucy – she at least expected him to be surprised, if not angry by this information, considering the kiss they shared, but then she reminds herself that the man before is not the same man she kissed, and the pain passes.

Lucy thinks back to his question and frowns; the name Erebus rang no bell, but even if it did, why did he care about it? "What does that have to do with anything?" She asks defiantly.

The two men shift and his eyes gleam as he takes a few warning strides towards her, "Do you?"

"No." She answers truthfully.

His eyes narrow in thought as he begins to circle her like a shark would its next meal, and she, in turn, remains still. She stares straight ahead at where he last was, which is the window opposite of her, and the only movements she makes include clenching and unclenching her jaw and toying nervously with the keys in her hand.

He begins to speak when he is at her back, "I need you to ask your _boyfriend_ something for me." She almost smiles at how he bites out the word she used to describe Bora. He rumbles on, "I need you to get as much information on Erebus as you can from him. Where their shipments are going, how many are going out at a time, when the shipments leave and where they leave from, the names of their buyers," he trails off as he comes to stand before her, face inches from her own and eyes penetrating hers, "I want all of it."

Lucy lets out a humorless laugh that wipes all expressions from his face, "Listen, I'd love to help you, but I'm not planning on seeing Bora ever again. I just came to grab my stuff and go."

"Look…" he starts, trailing off when he realizes he doesn't know her name.

"Lucy," she offers softly.

"_Lucy_," he hisses, "I need this information and I need you to get it for me. I don't care about your plans. I don't care about your current relationship with Bora. I don't care what you have to do to get the information, just make sure you do, because if not," he moves in so close she can feel the heat radiating off of him and his hot breath on her ear as he whispers, "I know you have a friend parked outside and I know where she lives. I know where she works and I know what bar she frequents. So, if you need a little _push_," Lucy feels herself flinch, "I won't think twice to shove you over the edge."

Lucy's gut coils tightly. He is threatening her – he is threatening Cana. She doesn't know how he knows these things he claims to know and she doesn't know just how he plans to 'push' her, but she does know one thing; she has to do what he says whether she likes it or not, and he'll make sure she does, no matter who gets hurt in the process. She has no choice in the matter.

She feels herself tremble – either from bile or horror, she doesn't know – as he pulls away enough so that their eyes can meet. Her brown eyes scour his hard, black ones, searching for a chink in his shield in hopes of being able to exploit it and reach the broken man from the bus stop that wouldn't make her do this, only to come up with nothing.

She feels her throat tighten as she mutters low so only he can hear, "Why are you doing this?" She chokes out, her final attempt at reaching him.

He shows no sign of a reaction to her plea, but responds nonetheless, "I have my reasons." Lucy feels her heart drop as he steps away and moves to the door, calling to her from the threshold, "I'll come to you in a week."

He then disappears into the hall with his two men following in suit, leaving Lucy to mourn the loss of a stranger she met on a bench at 3 am.

Her mourning is cut short, though, when the man who pays the rent stumbles through the door and slaps her in the face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

**I AM SO SORRY. I DID NOT EVEN REALIZE THE AMOUNT OF TIME THAT HAD PASSED BETWEEN UPDATES! I WILL POST THE NEXT CHAPTER NEXT WEEKEND!**

**ENJOY! (sorry if it feels filler-ish, but it's necessary to better understand Lucy!)**

**Chapter Three**

Lucy wakes up alone in her bed stark naked. Her muscles are sore, her arms and legs ache with bruises, her right nipple is crusted with dry blood, her left eye's vision is blurry, and her thighs are sticky with a formidable white substance. She seethes as she shakily sits up and pushes the yellow sheet from her body, whimpering at the thought of standing. Still, she grits her teeth and pushes herself to the edge of the bed with the use of both her arms and legs, until her feet can plant firmly on the wooden floor. She counts backwards from ten before forcing herself to stand, mouth opening in a silent scream as her muscles scream at her to stop, to sit down. Instead, she takes one wobbly step forward, and another, and another, until she finds herself in the bathroom.

She doesn't bother flicking on the light.

She doesn't want to look at herself in the mirror right now.

Turning on the showerhead, she waits for the room to fill with steam before stumbling into the tub. She gets to work immediately, scrubbing viciously at every inch her skin, trying to clean him from her body. She's gentler when she washes more sensitive areas, but is still thorough, nonetheless. The hot water pricks painfully at her skin, yet she waves off the pain as part of becoming clean again. She is thankful for the darkness; that way she doesn't have to see the red patches forming on her porcelain skin nor the reddish-brown water funneling down the drain.

When she's done, she shuts the tap and dries herself with a thin towel that she then uses to wrap her hair before stepping out of the tub. She opens the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out the first aid kit she kept there, mentally preparing herself for what gore is going to meet her when she turns on the light to see what she was applying to where.

When she does turn on the light, the sight in the mirror is enough to make her gag. The hot water caused random red patches to form on her skin, specifically around the areas where he had touched her, yet even without the red patches, it would still be easy to tell where he had touched her if the bruises acted as any guide. Her upper arms, wrists, and inner thighs were covered by fat, dark, finger-shaped bruises that throbbed when she softly ran a finger over them. The scab around her right nipple had reopened during her shower, causing a few blood droplets to seep out, and she cleans the area with an alcohol pad before covering it with ointment and sealing it with a bandage. She had a massive, angry bruise on her left cheekbone that had swelled up to swallow her eye from when he back-handed her, and she found there was little she could do except apply a cold compress later.

When she looks in the mirror, she finds that she wants nothing more than to slap some sense into the girl before her. No, she doesn't; she just wants to leave her. To abandon her to her misery because it is her fault that she's in this situation, but she can't because she is that girl. The shame that swirls in her stomach and spoils her mind makes tears form in her eyes; she knows what Bora does isn't right. She knows she shouldn't let him treat her like this and she knows she should just leave him, and for that she hates herself, but what choice does she have? Especially now that _he_ is making her stay.

She should have left Bora when she had a chance; now she's stuck here, because who knows what the Devil's capable of.

Lucy is quick to finish up treating her wounds, the activity having become tedious and common throughout the years, and opens the small, rounded box she kept hidden above the mirror to pop one of the many pills it contained into her mouth. She'd rather die than have one of his children.

Lucy leaves the bathroom and enters her room, slipping on soft, worn clothes so as to not irritate her injuries any further, and rips the sheets off of her bed. She throws the nasty things into the wash and puts a fresh set on her mattress, although the new sheets cannot erase the memories from her mind. She grabs her phone from where it's charging in the corner of the room and quickly stumbles into the living room, plopping herself onto the couch before checking her device.

She ignores all twelve of Cana's calls and countless text messages, not ready to explain herself to the brunette just yet. She knew last night that Cana was not going to simply accept her wimpy text that said she couldn't leave and she knew the girl was bound to go psycho on her ass, but she just didn't have the energy to deal with it right now, lest she breakdown on the phone and confess her true reason for staying.

Lucy feels her eyes burn; what was she going to do?

She groans. She wishes she could just runaway from it all. Somehow, though, she knows he'll find her. Not Bora – no, Bora wouldn't even bat an eye if she left – but him. The asshole that's making her stay. She knew he was no good, that damned dragon, and yet she still involved herself with him. Just like Bora.

Funny how clear the past is when looking back at it from the future.

Lucy scrolls through the contacts on her phone and shoots a text to her boss, saying something along the lines of her not being able to go into work for the next few days due to her being sick. She then forces herself off the couch and grabs a pair of sunglasses along with her keys and bus pass before heading out the door of her apartment.

She needs to go see her mom.

**888**

Lucy lowers herself into the seat next to the bed. The room is silent, save for the consistent periodic beep of the heart monitor and whooshing noise of the ventilator that coordinates with the rise and fall of her mother's chest.

Her eyes glaze over her mother's frame. Her skin is practically translucent, exposing the dark, angry veins hiding underneath, and her once lengthy golden hair has begun to grow back from being buzzed, the massive, intricate scars marring her scalp still able to show. Her eyelids are dark, even though she has been sleeping for a long time, and her nailbeds are a light purple.

Lucy frowns, "You must be cold." She takes her mother's icy hand into her own and gently rubs it, trying to get some circulation back into the extremity to warm it. Holding her mother's hand scares her as her mother's fingers are thin as needles, the bones in her hand and wrist jutting out to accentuate just how frail she was, and Lucy sighs as she gently lays her mother's hand to rest on the bed. She doesn't want to hurt her anymore than she's already been.

Lucy reaches up to remove the sunglasses off of her face, exposing the dark, puffy eye that lay underneath, and stares down at her hands so as to not look at her mother. She was ashamed that this was the fruits of her mother's teachings. Her mother, the strongest, most independent woman she knows would keel over and die should she see Lucy now. Beat up by a man she doesn't need.

"It's a good thing you can't see me," She mumbles, eyes still trained on her hands.  
"If you could, you'd probably yell at me for allowing him to do this to me. But really what choice do I have?" Lucy pauses; she knows her mother would tell her she was just making up excuses, but now it's true. She couldn't do anything to escape her fate now.

"I was going to leave him. I was going to stay with Cana for a while, until I could save up enough money for my own place, but then… I went up to get my things and – dammit," she rubs at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, "what have I gotten myself into?" She murmurs pitifully, the feeling of despair too overwhelming for her to shake off.

She takes a deep breath to clear her mind, looking up at the ceiling before continuing, "I'm sorry, I'll stop talking. I don't want to worry you. Just focus on getting better okay?" She looks back down at the placid face of her mother, half-expecting a response, and somehow more devastated when she doesn't say anything. That was to be expected, though.

Lucy then gets up and moves to kiss her mother on the forehead before simply staring down at her. At Layla Heartfilia, the woman that stole her daughter away from their home when she was ten to escape the man she described as heartless, yet her daughter only remembers as 'daddy'. The strongest woman Lucy knows, and the woman Lucy wishes would just wake up already.

"How are you, Lucy?"

Lucy jumps at the cold voice. She whirls to face the ancient woman, better known as Dr. Porlyusica, who frowns upon looking at her. "That black eye leads me to believe you've had better days?"

Lucy gulps, annoyed with herself that she didn't hear the doctor walk in, and fights the urge to cover her eye. There was no point in trying to hide it now. She waits for Porlyusica to press the subject further, and is grateful when the red-eyed woman doesn't. "I have," she says after finding her voice, "how are you, Porlyusica?"

The woman sighs, and Lucy takes note of the new creases forming around her eyes and mouth, "Good. Busy, but good. My apprentice isn't helping, so work has been a little hectic."

"Chelia?" Lucy frowns; she thought the small pink-haired girl was one of the best newcomers the hospital's ever seen. Just the other day she overheard a few nurses raving about her while changing her mother's catheter. "I thought you liked her."

Porlyusica scoffs and sticks her nose in the air, "I don't like anyone."

"Then why are you here talking to me?" Lucy deadpans.

Porlyusica crosses her arms. "Well," she begins, voice strained as she tries to conjure up an excuse, "you're the caretaker of one of my patients; I have to talk to you," she sighs, "and speaking of which…"

"I know," Lucy groans, rolling her eyes as she already knows what the doctor is going to say. She told her the same thing every time she saw her, after all. "I have to see Kinana for this month's payment. I swear I was going to go see her right after this."

Porlyusica shakes her head, "It's not that."

Lucy frowns. "Then what is it?"

The pink-haired woman walks over to stand by the bed, looking down at Lucy's mother as she begins with a voice more solemn than normal, "Lucy, we need to be realistic here. It's been six years, and Layla hasn't woken up once. I think you need to start looking at your other options –"

"No." It leaves her lips without her even having to think about it.

Doctor Porlyusica purses her lips, "Lucy…"

"No." She says firmly. She meets Porlyusica's pitiful stare with her own glare, feeling the boiling rage eat her up from the inside out. She isn't an idiot. She knows what Porlyusica is insinuating; she'll simply never resort to it.

She uses her anger to fuel her as she crosses the room to stand before Porlyusica. "Don't even think about it," she seethes, "she is my mother. If I know anything about my mother, it's that she hasn't given up, so you can't give up, either. Work harder and figure out how to wake her up, instead of trying to figure out how to get me to consent to killing her." Porlyusica doesn't say anything and Lucy can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing, all she knows is that Porlyusica can't unplug her mother without her consent, and she was never going to get it. Not over her dead body.

Lucy shoves past the unphased doctor with a growl. "I'll have this month's payment in by next week."

**888**

Lucy hums to herself as she dries off the plastic baggie that holds all her life savings inside and plops the bag on the kitchen table. She sits herself down next to it and slides the paper with this month's medical expenses towards her. Like last month, this month she owes a little over 7,000 Jewels. She's relieved that they didn't jack up the prices, at least. Once, her bill skyrocketed a whole 2,000 Jewel and she felt her entire soul escape her body when it did.

She flips through the mountain of cash and sets aside the right amount to give to Kinana next week. As part of her routine, she then pulls out her phone to calculate how much money she makes a month versus how much she's saving each month in an attempt to calculate how much longer she's going to have to stay with Bora, only she is interrupted by a knock at the door.

Lucy quickly scoops the stack into a coffee thermos (the least conspicuous mode of transport for cash) before shoving it under a couch cushion. She quickly glances through the peephole and nibbles at her bottom lip; it was Cana. Taking a deep breath, she slides the chain on the door into place and opens the door, making sure that only her good side is in view.

"What are you doing here?"

Cana raises a brow and crosses her arms over her chest, clearly annoyed with the blonde. She bites, "You weren't answering any of my calls, so I came to check up on you. May I come in?"

"No." Lucy says plainly.

Cana takes a deep breath; it is obvious that she is trying not to do something that she will later regret. "Lucy," she starts with a warning behind her words, "open the door."

Lucy shakes her head, feeling her throat tighten as she does. All she can think about is him and his promise to her. "I can't." She whispers.

Cana narrows her eyes, "You can't or you won't?"

His black eyes void of emotion flash through her mind and suddenly her own eyes begin to burn. "I can't open the door, Cana." She says more firmly.

She hates this. She hates pushing Cana away.

"Why not?" The brunette growls.

But she has to. She has to protect her. That's what friends do. They protect each other.

Lucy frowns and casts her eyes down. She mutters lowly, "What do you want, Cana?"

The muscles in Cana's jaw jumps in time with the spike in her anger. "I want an explanation. What the hell happened, Lucy? We were going to get you out of here, you were going to move in with me… so what happened? What the fuck stopped you?!"

The rise in Cana's voice at the end causes Lucy to flinch. She purses her lips and begins to close the door, "I can't tell you."

Cana places her hand on the door so as to stop her from closing it. "Lucy…"

Said girl trembles. "I'm sorry." She then slams the door shut and deadbolts it.

Cana bangs on the door. "Lucy!" She calls, "Lucy, please let me in! Please don't do this to yourself! Let me help you! Please!"

Lucy doesn't know how long Cana stays there at the door, but she assumes it's for a while.

After closing the door, she quickly plugs in her headphones and tunes out Cana's cries by playing her favorite playlist and raising the volume all the way. She pulls the envelope out from under the couch and returns to her spot at the counter. She continues to figure out how much longer she'll have to stay with Bora should she continue to rake in the same amount of money she's been making over the past six months, and determines that she should be able to leave within another three months. But with how things are going for her now… who knows when she'll be able to leave.

So long as he needs her, she can never leave lest she wishes to put someone she loves in danger.

She furrows her brow; she has to stay, she has to stay to protect Cana, and if Cana doesn't understand that… then she'd rather lose her as a friend than lose her entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

**I told you I would post the next chapter in a week, didn't I? Hopefully you'll find this more eventful than the last chapter ;).**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Four**

Lucy stuffs the money into the top of her neon blue, lace corset with a sigh. She then exits through the red, velvet curtains into the dimly lit hallway, leaving the middle-aged man seated in the center of the room to revel in his lustful state as she shuffles over to the bar. Spotting her friend's white head of hair and neon pink lingerie of the day (in case it wasn't made clear, on Tuesdays they wear neon), she unceremoniously plops on a stool before Mira and sets her head on the table with an unladylike groan. The barmaid giggles at the blonde's antics before setting aside the glass she was polishing in order to crouch down to Lucy's level with a smile. "What's the matter, Lucy?" she asks sweetly with her blue eyes bright, "Did the lap dance not go well?"

Lucy rolls her eyes. The lap dance was fine. She gave the guy a boner, he gave her twenty Jewels; it was just another normal business transaction. The blonde shakes her head. "It's not that."

Mira furrows her brow; Lucy sounds upset, and Lucy is never upset. Sure, she's seen the girl blow a casket and drag their poor old boss down a flight of stairs by the few hairs left on his head, but she's never seen Lucy this visibly disheartened. Something very bad must have happened, and she knows what Lucy's homelife is like. She's one of the few people trying to get Lucy out of Bora's apartment, after all. Mira pushes a soft strand of golden hair out of Lucy's droopy brown eyes. "Then, what happened?"

Lucy sighs; that's exactly what she's been trying to figure out. The events from the past few days have her wires all crossed. First, she was going to leave the place she wasn't forced to stay at, but stayed at because she didn't want to turn to her friends for help. Then, when she does turn to said friends for help, she is forced to stay in the place she was going to leave because some pink-haired freak (that she thought was some mystical unicorn until he showed up in her apartment and bared his draconic fangs at her) wants her to stay and play 'spy' for him. If she doesn't play along, she loses and he kills her best friend. The same best friend that has been ignoring her for the past two days, as if to say a big 'fuck you' for not letting her drag Lucy's ass out of that cursed apartment.

So, as much as she'd love to confide in Mira (as she usually does when she needs to sort out her problems), she knows she can't. Not without endangering the barmaid, too. She'd rather screw herself over than involve another friend in her mess… especially when she doesn't know whom this guy is and what he's capable of.

For all she knows, he's bluffing, but she's too chicken shit to go against his orders because there's always the part of her that sings, _"What if?"_ What if he's not bluffing? What if he does know who Cana is? What if he does kill her? What if he's tracking her? What if he has eyes on her right now?

Lucy frantically whips her head around her, practically crashing from her seat as she does only to be saved by Mira who lunges over the counter to grab her wrist. She gives Mira a sheepish smile. "Nothing, just…" she shrugs and scratches the back of her head with a nervous laugh, "tired, I guess."

Mira purses her lips. She can tell it's a lie, if Lucy's owlish eyes and fake laugh are anything to go by, but she knows better than to press the girl any further. Her innate motherly instincts are telling her to leave her child be (although said 'child' is only a few years younger than her) because she trusts that if Lucy wants her to know, she'll tell her. Mira just needs to give the girl some time.

Her blue eyes scan Lucy's face intently and Mira's grip on Lucy's wrist tightens, causing the blonde to shift uncomfortably. "Why don't you go home?" She finally says, "I'll ask Sherry to take up your tables, hm? Have her return the favor from the other day?"

Lucy nods, relief flooding her when Mira releases her and her face returns to its content default look. "Get some rest." She says before shooing Lucy off and calling Sherry over with a smile.

Lucy slides off the stool and makes her way to the hall leading to the locker room before looking towards Cana one final time. She spots the brunette easily, her neon orange panty set acting as a beacon through the dark club, and Lucy hopes that the other girl would just glance her way; that she'll drop the act and stop being angry with her… but Cana never does. Lucy watches as brown and orange disappear into the crowd.

She sighs. She doesn't like being at odds with Cana. Cana is one to hold a grudge, and she can hold it for a long time, so it doesn't necessarily surprise her that the brunette is still upset with her. She just wishes she wasn't. She can't tell if Cana ignoring her is making all of this harder or easier, and she just wishes she could make the other girl understand.

She pushes through the door of the changing room and heads straight to her locker. She is quick to change out of her uniform into street clothes, of which consists of a jean skirt, green tank top, and a shorter pair of pumps, and stuffs the usual (money, bus pass, phone, keys) into her bra. She slams her locker shut and glances at herself in the mirror, impressed that her makeup covering the dark bruises scattered about her body stayed on throughout the night. She's going to have to buy some more of this drugstore foundation when she gets the chance. She then shoves her way out of the exit and makes her way to her bus stop a few blocks away.

She glances at the bench accompanying her stop and decides to remain standing, even when her legs begin to ache and she begins to wonder why her bus still hasn't arrived. She checks the time on her phone. It was half past two. Her bus was supposed to get here fifteen minutes ago. She sighs; it must be out of order again.

With a groan and a negative mindset stemming from the fact that she now had to walk some thirty blocks to reach her bed, she begins her long trek east, but not before pulling out her keys to hold defensively between her fingers. Magnolia at night was an interesting place, to say the least; there was no harm in being too careful, especially in midtown.

Lucy came to learn early on that midtown was the worst area of Magnolia, simply because the concentration of people was highest here and the concentration of jobs lowest. People here were unhappy, unhealthy, and desperate; the perfect storm for higher crime rates as it coincides with their frustration and hate. Even now, as she hurries down the sidewalk and holds her arms close to her chest and keeps her head down so as to not attract attention to herself, Lucy can feel the despair, the loathing, and wants to fold in on herself and disappear.

The cement below her feet becomes a blur as she walks, and the noises around her act as her only guide in her travels. She catches the shouts of a bickering couple. The cry of a baby. The rustling of someone taking out the trash. Police sirens; both near and far and everywhere. Glass breaking. Dogs barking. Firecrackers (or so she pretends). Men shouting and hollering, coming from what seems like everywhere and she picks up the pace so as to avoid them and their shouts.

The muted sound of soft jazz spilling through the bottom of a dark door.

Lucy pauses.

She looks up. She spots a pair of sneakers hanging from the power line above her head. She turns to find a man sleeping on a newspaper in the mouth of an alley. She isn't out yet, but she is almost. Almost.

She continues on her way, scrunching up her nose at the smell of piss and gas and smoke, but powers through until she watches trees suddenly begin to sprout from the ground and with their rise the giant buildings shrink. All the noise fades away into silence and Lucy crosses the last street of this section until she is balancing on the edge of the canal, gazing into its inky waters shimmering silver in the moonlight. She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and allows her heart to beat in time with the lull of the wooden docks pushing against the walls with every swell of the canal, feeling all the knots within her untie themselves as she looks down at her lone reflection. She's out.

Once outside of the center of Magnolia; to the east and south where lay the sea, to the north and west where sprouted strong mountains; Magnolia is relatively safe. It's protected by the money of the upper class that trickles from the outside in and, of course, the organized crime group (called Fairy Tail, if she remembers correctly) that promises protection in return for money.

She had first learned about the group when she and her mother first came to Magnolia. The bookstore her mother worked at was protected by them, and although the owner had to pay a large sum for their services, they found that it was worth it. One day, a kid trying to get into a gang lit the store on fire, destroying everything. Nothing, not even the building itself, could be saved. The next day, the kid's house and the houses of all the other members of the gang were set on fire.

The mafia's not as prominent in midtown because the people there can't afford their services, instead relying on the cops who barely uphold any justice. In the past, Lucy's debated on contacting the group to help her get rid of Bora, but aside from the fact that she could never afford their help, she doesn't even know how she would go about contacting one of them. It's not like they just magically appeared when you say their name three times.

Aside from the mafia, Lucy believes that Magnolia being a port city and its location in regards to the rest of the world helps it in remaining relatively safe as it is an overall prosperous trading ground, meaning the majority of the people were doing well, too. At least, those whose neighborhood she is coming upon now.

Lucy slips her keys back into her bra and begins to walk along the wall of the canal due north. Some vestiges of the center follow her, like the smell of alcohol and a stray cat here and there, but majority of them remain hidden behind the buildings facing the waterfront. Some were businesses, though many of them were dark save for a few closing restaurants, but many of the buildings were strictly residential. One such building she was coming upon now.

It was a two-story building, housing only two apartments, and it stood on the opposite side of the canal. From the outside, it was any other normal building, made from stucco and stone with windows and a plain front door; it was nothing special, but Lucy loves it. She can imagine herself waking up to the canal every morning and walking along it to get wherever she needs to be. In the summers, she can see herself throwing on a bathing suit and walking down the canal until she reaches the beach, just like she and her mom used to do.

When they first came to Magnolia, she and her mom would spend every Sunday from the first week of summer to the last at the beach. They would put on their nicest swimsuits and venture from their one-bedroom apartment uptown all the way to the downtown beaches where only the rich were allowed in and them, lugging their towels and chairs and coolers, because they made friends with the security guards that snuck them in through the side.

Two years ago, she went to an open house for the second-floor apartment, just to check it out, and ever since she's been obsessed with trying to save enough money to live there one day. She wonders if anyone's moved in since.

Lucy seethes as her ankle rolls from an uneven stone in the wall. Her feet are already killing her, so this wasn't exactly helping. She still had to walk another fifteen blocks to Bora's apartment. She debates on taking off the monstrous death traps known as shoes, but ultimately decides against it as her other option is walking barefoot (and that's disgusting). So, she sucks it up and keeps walking.

After another block or two, Lucy begins to grow bored and starts to sing the song that's been stuck in her head for the past week (thanks to Cana) whilst pretending to be a gymnast as the wall of the canal grows terribly thin; so much so that she almost slips and falls in. Thankfully, she catches herself, feeling her heart practically explode out of her chest as she does.

"Okay," she mumbles, quivering as she steps off the wall, "maybe I should walk down here until the wall widens up again."

She thinks it's a good plan and after a couple of feet, the wall begins to thicken up again. As she places her hands down to heave herself up, though, she stops. A high-pitched whine reaches her ears, and at first, she can't tell if it's coming from a human or an animal. She tries to listen harder, and when she can't decipher it, she decides to follow it.

She pushes off of the wall and follows the noise into a side street. It begins to grow clearer and she recognizes it to belong to a man, only she can tell now that he's saying something. She can't make out the words, though, and wanders closer to the source. She finds herself at the mouth of an alley where another male voice has joined the man's whines. Although she can't make out exactly what either are saying, the contrast between the high tones of the first voice and the low monotone of the second make her believe that whatever they're talking about is nothing good.

A loud crack fills the alley and billows out to ring in her ears. Lucy feels her body tense at the sound that is followed by another high-pitched whine. She feels every cell in her body screaming at her to run away, but she fights the urge to do because she's come this far and instead peeks in.

Though dark, she can make out four figures dressed in suits surrounding a buff man clad in nothing but his underwear with his arms and legs tied together. His eyebrow is split, shrouding his face and neck in a thin layer of blood, and the area around his left eye is red and swollen. The large man is kneeling on the ground facing her and another man whose back is to her. She squints, and she can make out face of one of the larger men before her blood runs cold.

Long black hair, red eyes, covered in piercings; she knows him.

Her eyes flit to another man, shorter than the last yet just as close to the man in the center.

Floppy navy hair, droopy dark eyes, half the buttons of his shirt undone… she knows him, too.

Both were in Bora's apartment three days ago, which means that the one whose back is to her must be…

His deep monotone voice resonates throughout the alley, and she stands, transfixed by him as the man below him cowers. The beat-up man was at least twice his size; how could that massive brute of a man be sniveling at his feet? Just who was this man?

He holds a hand out to droopy eyes and droopy eyes takes a gun out of his jacket and attaches something to the end of it before handing it to him. He then points the gun at the man's head and shoots.

Lucy gasps as the body drops to the ground without a sound and quickly covers her mouth, realizing her mistake when she sees him freeze. She watches with wide eyes as he turns to face her, shoving the gun into the back of his pants as he begins to stalk towards her, leaving his men to clean up his mess.

Lucy is screaming at her body to move but all she can do is stare into his black eyes and feel the fear that keeps her rooted to her spot. He gets closer and she feels her mouth sucking in air, but her lungs refuse it. Black dots begin to fill her vision and her limbs feel like lead. Why can't she breathe? Why can't she move?

Then, as if flipping a switch, she peels off the wall and begins sprinting towards the canal. If she can get to the canal, she can jump in and be swept to the port, far away from him. She feels her legs burn as she moves and her rolled ankle cry as she pounds down the street. She feels herself begin to grow cold and she nears the mouth of the street. She's almost there. Almost.

She makes it to the corner when arms encircle her upper body and she falls, crashing to the ground with a cry. She unexpectedly lands on her back, on top of him, and begins screaming her head off only to find that her screams are muffled by his hand over her mouth. He then drags them off of the ground with a grunt and she continues to kick against his hold and scream into his hand, nails digging into the jacket on his forearms as she does. She throws her head back against him and he seemingly expects it, using this to further restrict her movements by holding her head against his chest. She closes her eyes tight because she doesn't want to see him.

He holds her tightly to him until she gets all the fight out of her; until all her energy is spent and she can no longer wriggle against his grasp. She realizes her attempts at escape are futile; he's too strong. She just holds onto his forearm and leans against him, tears escaping from her eyes to run down her cheeks and catch on his hand. She tries to calm down by breathing deeply through her sobs.

She opens her eyes and looks up at him through the tears. His dark eyes are stones; the farthest thing from the sable shields and even farther from the malleable charcoal she remembers. Heartless, lifeless stones that stare down at her as if she's the issue, not him. She's the issue because she saw him kill someone; he's not the issue because killing is just what he does.

Her heart clenches. More tears fall. Killing probably is just what he does. Killing people is normal to him. He's probably going to kill her right now; with the silent gun and then throw her in the canal when he's done.

She suddenly feels the need to puke.

He suddenly removes his hand from her mouth. Then, he removes himself entirely from her.

She feels her eyes widen as he steps away from her, and she trembles as she curls in on herself. She turns to face him and gulps.

There he stood. Salmon hair falling messily around his head. Black suit crumpled and dirty with a tear in the elbow from falling on the floor. Face relaxed; almost soft when his chapped lips part, "Go," he rumbles.

She straightens as she meets his eyes and rub at the tears still trailing down her face. The stones had softened into obsidian clay. "Thank you," she whispers, her throat and mouth dry and hoarse from the running, screaming, and crying.

His eyes flicker over her. They meet hers again, this time, they are hard, but not permanently so. "I'll be visiting you soon, Lucy."

**888**

When she enters, he's there. She can tell he's been drinking.

He's quick to spot her from his spot on the couch.

"Lucy," he purrs, causing her stomach to clench, "come over here and suck my dick."

All she can see is the scarlet lazily traveling along the floor of the alley towards her. The massive man with a bullet lodged in his head. Eyes and mouth wide in shock at his own death. And him. He did it. He shot him. So effortlessly. As if it was stepping on an ant.

"Not tonight, Bora." She mumbles, grabbing the pitcher of water from the fridge and pouring herself a glass. Her head is pounding.

"I said," he raises his voice; he's more irritable now that he's been drinking, "suck my dick."

She closes her eyes and is met by his dark ones.

He let her go.

Lucy brings the glass to her lips, biting out the words, "And I said, not tonight."

Suddenly the glass is knocked out of her hands and her cheek is throbbing and Bora is standing over her and glass and water are everywhere and her hand is sliced right open.

"That's what you get, bitch." He spits on her.

Lucy watches from the kitchen floor as he turns off the TV and walks out the front door, kicking a beer can at her head as he does.

She grits her teeth.

She may not trust Pinky, but if helping him means Bora will suffer, then she'll do whatever she needs to do for the bastard.

Hell, she'll probably even kill for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, not on schedule, but shit happens. :) **

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter; Lucy has a lot of questions swirling around her head, so basically enjoy her mental breakdown which will lead into the good stuff! ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Five**

For the next two days, Lucy rips apart the apartment.

She checks inside every cabinet. The vents. Under the tables, the couch, and the bed. Behind the fridge. Behind the oven. She goes back to the cabinets and wiggles them to see if they move and expose a secret alcove for hiding things. Behind the bathroom mirror. In the hall closet. Behind the washer and dryer. She even checks all the floorboards to see if any are faulty.

She's pissed as she goes through all this trouble scouring the apartment for information on Erebus, only to come up with nothing.

Well, technically, not nothing. She does find a large dust bunny (typical), a cockroach (her soul escaped her when it popped out from behind the oven to say hello), a hundred Jewels (which she pockets), a bunch of pills (which she would also pocket if she wasn't a clean freak), and the TV remote (never trust couches); all of which are useless to her and Pinky (this is the name she's decided to give him until she learns of his real name).

She sits with her back against the wall and sighs, bringing her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. She was tired and disheartened that her search was fruitless. What will Pinky say? Will he be upset? Well, obviously, he gave her one job and she can't even do it. Will he kill her, though? And what about Cana? Instead of killing her, will he kill Cana to send a message?

She thinks back to the large man with the bullet lodged in his skull and thinks _'yes, he will most definitely kill me'_, but then she finds herself remembering how he let her go and knows that he won't kill her. The same can't be said for her friend, though.

She groans.

She simply wants Bora to suffer, is that too much to ask? Is it too much for her to ask for happiness? It doesn't need to necessarily come in the form of Bora's bones being grinded into dust, but can't something good finally happen to her?

She bangs her head against her knees. She needs a vacation. Or a drink. Or both. All the negativity and disappointment and sick moms and abusive boyfriends and bipolar murderers were really starting to catch up to her.

The room grows dim as the sun begins to set and Lucy checks the time on her phone, realizing she has to start heading out to _Mak's_ as she had the opening shift tonight. Hauling herself off of the floor, she makes sure everything is back where it was from before she tore the place apart and slips into the bathroom to apply her makeup. She smothers foundation and concealer over the bruises littering her body, thankful that none were fresh as Bora's swing last night didn't leave a mark; he merely left her with a superficial scratch on her hand from the broken glass and a thirst for vengeance.

When she's done, she heads into the bedroom to change into bell-bottom jeans and a light-blue tank, as she was not about to leave the apartment in her underwear and an oversized hoodie.

By the time she leaves, she's running late for the bus and has to sprint to catch it as the asshole driver's pulling away from the curb (they saw her running, and still they put that baby into drive). She plops down in a seat by the window to catch her breath, looking out at all the people they pass by on the way to midtown.

Crazy crackheads with the butt cut out of their jeans, a group of men and women arguing over what seems to be an accident. A grandmother sitting on her front porch, overlooking her grandkids that play jump rope with the other little kids on the block. She looks up at the sky just as the sun disappears, leaving behind its final blessing of dark pastels in the sky, and thinks it's one of the most beautiful things she has ever seen.

**888**

Lucy is met by a surprise the moment she walks into _Mak's_: Cana talks to her.

"Lucy," the brunette singles her out the moment she walks through the door, dark eyes glaring holes into her head, "that VIP guy wants to see you. He's here now. Says to head up as soon as possible."

It takes Lucy a moment to get over the initial shock of Cana talking to her and process what the woman said, and so before she can even think of a response, Cana turns on her heel and sashays away in her platform shoes. To some, that may have been perceived as highly rude, but in Lucy's eyes, that's a victory! Cana spoke three sentences to her! And she maintained (scary) eye contact! And, to top it all off, something good is happening to her! She is finally going to meet this mysterious VIP!

Lucy had forgotten all about her secret admirer. Between the drama with Bora and Pinky, it had completely slipped her mind that someone (hopefully super rich and famous) was interested in her. As in, interested enough to ask to see her in private – _twice _(even though he did stand her up the first time, but she's willing to overlook it right now given the circumstances). She's surprised that they came so early to see her (and that they were even allowed in), but she guesses that means their interest is genuine?

She freezes on the first step leading to the VIP lounge and gasps; maybe Sherry's onto something and is actually spouting some facts when she goes on her little love rants. Maybe Sherry's right about meeting 'the one' at the club! What if this guy is her knight in shining armor? What if he's the answer to all her problems? Maybe someone really was listening when she asked for something good to finally happen to her.

Lucy smiles blissfully as she prances up the steps, lost in her dream world that consists of her and a dashingly good-looking, blonde, fair-skinned, blue-eyed gentleman with perfectly white teeth.

He'll sweep her of her feet riding a wave of money, and he'll steal her away from her abusive boyfriend! He'll pay for her mother's hospital bills! She won't have to strip! She can be a housewife and do nothing for the rest of her life! So, what if she needs to push out a baby or two, she won't have to do anything after that! She'll be free!

And he'll be so rich, he'll have so many different houses around the world and she'll be able to choose to live at whichever one she wants! She'll obviously choose to live in Minstrel, where she'll be able to drink wine all day and be far enough away from Magnolia that the weird, mafia, dragon creep Pinky can never reach her again! He'll be her knight in shining armor!

Lucy beams radiantly as she reaches the top of the stairs and flings the door to the VIP section wide open…

'_Oh, how I can't wait to meet –'_

…only to find herself utterly disappointed by the person before her.

'– _him.'_

Him. It's him. It is that stupid, pink-haired, tanned, dark-eyed killer creep. He is the mysterious VIP guy. It's _him_.

Lucy crashes instantly from the high she was riding before and simply stares at him like he's a piece of poop floating in the pool. She wants to cry. Or puke. Scratch that, she wants to cry, then puke, then cry again, and then tell whoever the fuck is playing this nasty trick on her to piss off.

Just look at him, in his stupid suit with his stupid hair and his stupid smile and his stupid – wait, is that vintage? – scotch and his stupid… stupid stupid. Stupid. He's just stupid. So stupid. Maybe he has his stupid gun on him, too, so she can blow her stupid brains out cause she's so stupid that she could probably function without it anyways.

She honestly can't tell if she's more upset with herself or with him. She's the idiot; for a second, she actually believed in Sherry's cracked-up shit. Her lip trembles; it's not her fault that she wants to believe that something good can actually happen to her, though. It's not her fault that this idiot dragon is here instead of her prince!

She takes a calming breath; why is she getting so worked up about this? She has a dying mother, an abusive boyfriend, a best friend that isn't talking to her, and a murderer that is using her to do his bidding; why is she so upset over a stranger that doesn't exist? Is it because she lost what she perceives to be her only chance at escape? Or is it because of all people, it's Pinky that's sitting before her?

Hold on, why is he here? Was him singling her out the other night at the club a coincidence? Was them meeting at the bus stop a coincidence? Was him breaking into her apartment a coincidence? It couldn't be. He had to have planned it all. Just who the hell is this guy and what does he want from her? Why can't he leave her alone?

She clenches her fist, thankful that his (stupid) back was still her as she feels her eyes begin to burn. She feels so dumb. She feels so weak. Maybe she needs a nap; no, she doesn't need a nap, she just needs all men to just get out of her life. Starting with him.

"Lucy," his dumb, deep voice splits her thoughts as he holds up a glass of amber liquid to her, "want a drink?"

He rambles on about it being some rare scotch that supposedly spontaneously combusts if drank the wrong way, but Lucy doesn't hear him as her thoughts drown him out. Did he just offer her a drink? So nonchalantly? Like they were friends or something? Like he didn't threaten her friend's life should she not do what he says? Like she didn't see him murder someone the other night? Like he wasn't some huge creep that's been stalking her before she even knew of his existence?

She shakes her head, feeling her frustration grow tenfold into pure hot anger. "I should have known it was you," she bites out as she advances on him, "so what? Was it some coincidence that you came to the club last week asking to see me, then talked to me at the bus stop, and then freaking showed up where I live? Or was it all a part of your plan to use me to get what you want?"

He says nothing, just stares up at her from his seat on the stool with those stupid black eyes that looked like some stupid fucking stone 'cause she's too pissed to read into his demeanor right now and, quite frankly, she is over the bullshit. Guns and threats and feelings be damned.

She growls at his lack of a response and turns to the stairs. "You know what? Fuck you. I don't need this crap –"

"I wouldn't leave if I were you."

She whips around to face him, ready to rip him to shreds with her bare hands. "Or what? You're going to kill me like you killed that guy in the alley?"

He looks her dead in the eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, Lucy."

She knows she would scoff if her emotions weren't off the charts, instead narrowing her eyes. "I don't believe you." She bites out, hoping her hatred for him can take form in her words and stab him one hundred times over.

Neither move; their eyes burning holes into one another.

After a moment, he offers her the glass again. "Tell me what you learned about Erebus."

She then throttles him. Internally.

Externally, she inhales deeply in an attempt to calm herself. She reminds herself that if there ever was a guy to help her destroy Bora, it would be him, so she can't kill him before she even gets the chance to ask him to crush the bastard.

She sighs and stalks over to him, snatching the glass of scotch from his hand before turning to sit on the couch. She's still annoyed with him (and most definitely not done with this conversation), but she tells herself he's too freaking dense to talk about more than one thing at a time.

"Nothing." She rubs at her forehead. "I practically tore the apartment apart and didn't find a single thing on them."

He leans against the bar and crosses his arms, studying her as her face scrunches when she takes a sip of the hard drink. "Does he have a safe? An office outside of your apartment?"

Lucy wracks her brain for a place before shrugging, her thoughts too jumbled up of a mess for her to process at the moment, "I don't know… maybe? I don't really keep tabs on his whereabouts… unlike _some_ people." She murmurs the last part under her breath.

He ignores the jab. "Think, Lucy. There has to be somewhere he goes often and spends a lot of time at. A bar, a friend's house, a club…"

She sticks her thumb nail in her mouth and begins to jounce her knee, staring at his annoyingly perfectly pressed pants as she loses herself in thought. In all honesty, she feels as if Bora is rarely in the apartment and she has no idea where he goes when he's out. For all she knows, he could be living it up on a yacht somewhere. He could be an underworld king, or a professional gambler, or…

She then ceases her movements and her eyes flicker up to his. "I think I might know a place."

He pushes off the bar. "When can you go?"

She stands as he approaches. "Tomorrow night."

He nods, hands her his glass, says, "I'll be back within the week," then brushes past her towards the stairs as if he were some world-renowned actor that was too good to spend any of his precious time with his adoring fans.

Before she can stop herself, she blurts, "You're leaving?"

He looks over his shoulder and flashes her a smirk, "What, you want me to stay?" He teases suggestively. His smile widens when her face turns a shade of red rivaling that of a tomato. "Don't worry, I told you I'll be back soon, so you won't have to miss me too much." He winks at her. "I just got some business to tend to."

She wonders what that means as she watches his pink head disappear down the stairs.

She then decides it's best she doesn't know and downs the rest of her fancy scotch.

She also downs his, too, for good luck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry about the wait! I forgot I was writing this ngl. Oops!**

**No excuse now - being stuck at home is definitely an incentive to write!**

**Stay safe and enjoy!**

**Chapter Six**

Lucy throws back a shot of vodka and revels in the warmth that shoots down her throat before settling in her stomach, where it then quickly spreads to the rest of her body. She signals for the bartender to pour her a second round, the poor young girl scrambling to fill her glass. As she does, Lucy turns her attention back out the window, intently watching the entrance of her apartment building.

It's Friday. Bora's heading out to play blackjack tonight.

She told Bora an hour ago that she was leaving for work, when in reality she's been waiting in this bar across the street for him to come down. She hasn't been drinking for the entire hour, though. No, she was actually taking this whole "follow-Bora-to-his-secret-lair" thing very seriously for a good fifty-seven minutes, until she got bored at minute fifty-eight and said, "What the hell," and ordered herself a drink.

Usually, when she goes to bars, she never has to buy a drink. Guys swarm her at all times of the day like flies do to a juicy piece of fruit (she is obviously the juicy piece of fruit), and more often than not, she ends up with too many drinks to finish on her own. When she's with Cana, which is basically always, she just gives them all to her because that girl can hold her liquor far better than anyone she knows.

Today, though, no one approaches her. Not one guy has come up to her to offer her a drink. She supposes it's because her hobo look is throwing them off. When she came to this bar, the first thing she did was go to the bathroom to change into the black hoodie and sneakers she had planted there earlier that day (true Com Truise spy tactics). Now that she thinks about it, she supposes she doesn't necessarily look homeless, but more like a criminal between the black (who else wears a black hoodie in the middle of summer?), the drinking, and the intense expression on her face as she stares down the building.

In the middle of lifting the glass to her lips, she spots his navy head and beady eyes appear on the street and drops the money she owes on the bar. She throws back the rest of her drink, and swiftly slips off the stool and out the doors.

She remains on the opposite side of the street, thankful for the amount of people walking around as she trails him. He's walking fast; she has to walk faster than normal to keep up. He's on the phone, visibly upset as he yells obscenities at the person on the other side. She can pick out a few words here and there; something having to do with the next company shipment being busted by the other guy's "fucking small-ass, peanut-sized brain" that he's going to "smash into a wall to feed to the squirrels" when he sees him.

Lucy frowns; Bora really is involved in all this crap. Or at least it seems that way.

She's not exactly surprised. She never doubted the fact that he's involved in some shady business because she knows firsthand that he is a horrible human being, she just didn't know if she completely trusted Pinky.

He hasn't even explicitly told her what Erebus is (but since he's after it, she can assume it's nothing good), yet is expecting her to gather information on it without offering her anything in return. The only reason why she's doing this is to protect Cana. A part of her had wanted him to be wrong about Bora just so she wouldn't have to continue being his spy, but she knows he's right, and that same part of her now feels obligated to trust Pinky.

Even if it's just a little bit.

He didn't lie about Bora being involved. He hasn't even lied about himself. He hasn't tried defending any of his actions. He's obviously withholding information from her, but something tells her that if she asks (without exploding in his face like she did yesterday), he'll tell her. He hasn't lied to her, and she doesn't think he ever will.

Now, all she can hope for is that whatever Pinky has planned for Bora hurts. A lot.

And then she can forget that both of them ever existed.

They continue like this for a couple blocks north, him yelling on the phone and her trailing a few yards behind, before he makes a beeline to her side of the street and she thinks he's spotted her. When he reaches the sidewalk a few feet in front of her, though, he continues hurrying north before making a sharp right on the street corner.

She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding in and follows him east. They begin to leave the busiest part of the city and enter the area where the streetlamps are sparse and placed at random, before suddenly crossing one of the many canals embedded in the outer layers of the city. They cross over another, and another, and Lucy can smell the fishing docks and taste the salt from the sea on her tongue.

He then careens left into a dark side street and Lucy turns just to see him make a right into an alley. She breaks into a sprint so as to not lose him, trying to make her steps as light as possible so they wouldn't echo amongst the buildings. She makes it to the corner and peers down the alley, watching as he slips into this small shack at the very end. It looks like any other old, decrepit house, but Lucy knows it's probably that way for a reason. No one would suspect any business to be run out of there; not even illegal business.

She sprints down the alley like she has fire at her heels and grabs the door just as it is sliding into place. She huffs, sweating from all the activity and the heat, as she slips inside.

She finds the inside is just as ugly as the outside; off-white paint peeling from the moisture in the air, floor boards all scratched up and dull, the ceiling puffy and marred with brown rings of water damage; and spots Bora stomping up a creaky set of stairs at the end of a long hallway. She needs to follow him, but they're no longer alone.

She can hear men laughing from the rooms on either side of her, and just hopes that by her walking as nonchalantly as she can to the stairs, none of them will stop her. She knows this isn't the best plan, but Bora's getting away and she doesn't think her ability to crawl on the ceiling has kicked in yet.

She gulps and begins to walk, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she does. She doesn't look into any of the rooms, knowing that if she does, she'll draw more attention to herself, and begins singing a song in her head about how if she dies here, at least no dragon can roast her over a spit and eat her as the appetizer of his three-course meal (she also adds a verse on how she should have asked the dragon for maybe some backup or a gun before infiltrating a supposedly dangerous organization).

She makes it to the stairs without anyone stopping her and almost pees her pants out of relief. Placing her foot on the first step, she freezes as she hears quite possibly the loudest creak of her life. She waits a moment, listening for any disruption in any of the conversations going on around her, and when she assures herself that no one else heard the creak, she continues to scale the stairs, stepping on the nails near the banister to do so quietly.

She makes it to the second level and sees Bora at the end of the hallway with his back to her, entering a room. She scurries down the hallway and looks at the doorknob, noticing there's a keypad on it.

Not being good with numbers and banking big time on her luck as that's how she's made it this far, Lucy tries the door to her right and finds it's a closet filled with cleaning supplies. She slips in and doesn't close the door all the way, leaving it open just a smidge so that she can squint through and watch the door Bora disappeared behind.

He reappears after a few minutes, still on the phone, and stalks down the hallway to the stairs, not bothering to ensure the door shut behind him as he does. Thanking whoever was looking out for her today, Lucy slips out of the closet and presses her hand against the door to stop it from closing. She's in.

She shuts the door softly behind her, releasing a breath she's been holding in since she started following Bora, and finds herself in what appears to be his office. It is probably the nicest room in the entire house, which she finds hilarious considering Bora's living in a shit hole for half the week (the other half, she has no idea where he goes nor does she want to know. She's not complaining; she doesn't want him in the apartment any longer than he already is). She ignores the bookshelves lining the walls on either side of her and heads straight for the desk in front of her, knowing that any important or recent information is going to be there.

She scrambles to be on the other side of the desk and rifles through the papers on the desk, taking pictures of everything she finds. Her eyes flicker to the monitor on the desk and she jiggles the computer mouse upon finding it under a few miscellaneous files. The computer is where the really important stuff is.

A loud click rings in her ears and Lucy freezes, slowly looking up to see a gun in her face.

She feels her heart drop into her stomach that's growing colder and colder with every moment that passes with the weapon trained on her. Her mouth goes dry and her mind goes blank. She stares down the barrel of the gun at the person holding it.

It's a woman with pale skin, long blue hair, and serious sapphire eyes that popped with the amount of eyeliner she had surrounding them. She had on leather pants and a skin tight, sleeveless purple top with a plunging V-neck, exposing a massive tattoo on her chest; an emblem of sorts. Lucy would have thought she was pretty had she not been one finger twitch away from ending her life.

"Who are you?" Her voice is dead, just like her eyes, yet the words slice through the air like water slicing through steel.

Lucy can't think. She doesn't know what to do either than submit to the woman. Maybe if Lucy does exactly what she says, she can somehow buy herself enough time to calm down and think of a way out of this situation. Lucy trembles as she raises her hands in a sign of peace. "My name is Lucy. I was just –"

"You shouldn't be here." Lucy notices a flash of light from her mouth. She has a diamond tongue ring. Who the hell has a tongue ring? Doesn't that hurt? She's scary.

Lucy gulps. Metal grazes her forehead. It's warm. "Are you going to shoot me?" She whispers, knowing that those may very well be the last words she'll ever say.

The woman's blue eyes glaze over Lucy's hand and Lucy realizes she never closed the camera app.

The woman then lowers the gun. "No." Her response takes Lucy aback. "But you need to get out of here before Bora comes back. Go out the window; the drop's not that bad."

Lucy remains frozen for a moment, shocked at the turn of events. She thinks she must be dreaming, but knows she isn't. With wide eyes, she hesitantly lowers her arms, waiting for the woman to jerk the gun back up and shoot her in the head. "Thank you…?"

She swears the woman smiles, but it is gone before she can process it. "Juvia. Now leave."

**888**

Lucy clutches the cold dinosaur thermos (that she so lovingly called, 'the dino cave') to her chest. It's Sunday, she's on the bus to Magnolia University Hospital to visit her mother and pay the hospital bill. Most people just receive the bill in the mail and send back a check, but Lucy's case is a little different. She pays cash, meaning she has to deliver it by hand to Kinana every month, and she transports her large sum of cash in an obscure tin can that has, "Rawr, eat like a dino to be a dino!" written on it in peeling orange paint.

She sits at the very back of the bus with her head pressed against the cool glass, feeling her body loose yet knowing there existed a deep tension underneath it all. She was almost killed two days ago. Sure, for the past week she thought she was going to die numerous times, but she actually almost died on Friday. She felt the gun against her head. She was practically shaking hands with Death himself and inquiring about the weather in Hell. But that woman, Juvia, she let her go.

She let her go, when Lucy knows she saw her gathering information on Erebus. She knows Lucy was there as a spy, yet she still let her go. It just doesn't make sense. Juvia was obviously a part of the company (although Pinky never told her, Lucy read the documents she took pictures of and was able to piece together that Erebus is some kind of company that handled some kind of black market good), and yet she allowed her to get away with information on it. Why would she do that? Lucy could have been a cop or a spy for a rivalling company for all the woman knew, so why the sudden change of heart?

It wasn't that Juvia was afraid of killing her, that much is certain; she was definitely prepared to, but something stopped her. Maybe her own personal motives?

Lucy thinks back to her dead eyes, knowing that eyes aren't inherently dead; they start off alive, and then someone kills them. She wonders who killed Juvia's eyes.

The bus comes to a stop in front of the hospital and Lucy stumbles out into the bustling street, tightening her grip on her thermos as she does. She walks through the doors of the main lobby of the hospital and makes a beeline for her mother's ward, refusing to interact with anyone until she reaches her destination.

Kinana is seated behind the desk of the nurses' station, clicking away at her computer with one hand while the other absentmindedly rubs at her swollen stomach. She's nearing the end of her third trimester, if Lucy remembers correctly, and is expecting a baby girl with her husband that works as a doctor on the contagious disease floor. This will be their first child, but not their first pregnancy.

Kinana confided in Lucy a few months back that they had lost the last two very early on, so for this little girl to still be kicking was a miracle in their eyes. Her husband actually wanted her to take a leave when they first found out she was pregnant, so as to help the chances of the baby's survival to term, but Kinana apparently refused to do nothing all day. Later on, she did agree to stay off the floor and stay behind the desk to do paperwork once the thirty-week mark hit.

The purple haired nurse glances up at Lucy and sends her a radiant smile as the blonde nears the desk. Lucy returns the gesture, "Hey, Kinana. How are you doing?"

"Pregnant, that's how I'm doing." She rolls her eyes. "Erik had to help me get dressed this morning. How about you?"

Lucy's smile falters; she wonders if she'll ever have children. It's always been something she's wanted to do. Be a mother, that is. But she's waiting for the right guy. The guy that'll take care of her and accept all the bullshit she has to offer and love her anyways. She hasn't met him yet, and she wonders if she ever will.

"I've been…" she thinks about the past two weeks and how to sum them up, fiddling with the top of the dino cave as she does, "busy." She then hands over the thermos.

Kinana cracks open the tin can and shrugs, "Well, busy is not always a bad thing. That's how you get this." She gestures to the wad of cash she just pulled from the dino cave.

Lucy nods, knowing that Kinana would not be saying that should she know what busy meant in Lucy's dictionary. She watches as Kinana counts out the money and waits as she brings it over to a separate room to be stored until it is to be transferred to a more secure location. Kinana is writing her a receipt when from the corner of her eye, Lucy sees a couple of nurses rolling her mother's bed down the hallway.

Lucy perks up, "Where are they taking my mom?"

"Doctor Porlyusica ordered a fresh MRI for your mom. A new intern she's taken on recommended it given it's been so long since your mom has had one." Kinana rips the receipt from the pad and hands it to Lucy with a smile that envelopes her eyes, "Looks like she's not ready to give up."

Lucy takes the receipt and watches as her mother disappears from sight, feeling her heart warm as she returns the smile.

Giving up was never an option, anyways.


End file.
